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Climax Control Archives / The infestation begins
« on: September 07, 2023, 02:07:04 PM »
The Rat Den, Knoxville Tennessee
September 1st
The den was far from the most state-of-the-art wrestling school. The chipped and yellowed white paint, the glass doors that wouldn't shut properly, the 40-years-outdated style of the sign, and the sheet metal roof that hadn't been cleaned in more than a decade all made it look like an old mattress store. It had been a mattress store before her father had bought it and converted it, but that was besides the point. Jane pulled the door the rest of the way open, ducking under the OPEN sign that had always hung too low
The interior wasn't much special either. A few mats and a boxing ring, to keep with the 'old way', which always meant the 'sixties way'. The school was empty, save for her and Charlie, admiring one of the dozen demotivational posters hanging from the walls-he'd gotten it into his head that they 'improved moral'. They'd hosted graduation two weeks ago. Now Joe Muller and Kylie Hendrickson were the indies' problem. They'd all been gifted students, certainly good enough now to roll over whatever garbage wrestlers or indie leftovers they'd be placed against.
"Splinters" McCulligan: "My star pupil," the old man said without turning around. "I remember raising you to knock."
Jane McCulligan: "You only have glass doors, dad."
"fair enough," he said, unpinning and rolling up the poster. "So, contract signing went well? SCW right? Probably over that new 'e-mail' or something right? You get booked? Or Tyler?"
"SCW, yeah. It's a good enough place for a first onscreen match. Tyler ain't been booked yet, but at least I'm in the Opener. And why does every conversation with you turn to technology?
He didn't answer the question. His hatred for technology was about as legendary as it was inconsistent. No one had the heart to tell him E-mail was invented in the 70s.
"hmm, Opener. Better than the mid-card. At least normally. Going against anyone worth beating?"
"Harp something. Harp Madison? Harp Maddox? It was Harp M-something. Probably a no-body."
"They go through Hero Academy?"
"Probably. Either there or Go Gym. Half the talent in North America goes through one of those schools or the other. Why's it matter, not like it's the rat den."
"It's supposed to train good wrestlers. None of 'em would pass muster in the 70s," He thought for a second. "Harper Mason, that it? Cousin to Jessie Salco?"
"No shit? They're booking me against the cousin of a hall-of-famer? They expect me to throw it for her or something?"
He laughed "Bookers'll never change at least. Even if they're the only thing in this damn industry that won't. I wouldn't put it past Salco to have whispered something in the booker's ear to get her greenhorn cousin an easy match for her debut. Bob Mullins used to do that for his boys, and I know damn well Hisoka does that for his students. Either way, they're either expecting you to throw or expecting you to lose in three minutes."
"And what if I, say, don't choke?"
"Well, then you'd go over the golden child, probably humiliate her on national television, and probably start getting booked against people who matter," Father and daughter shared a smirk. "You got the right mindset, not being intimidated by the big stage. But don't be getting overconfident. This isn't a showcase match in the Okinawan indies. SCW's a big fed, got a television contract. People are going to see this match. They're going to see what you do in that ring."
"So should I drag it out? Maybe put her through the table, dislocate a few fingers? Something to show people what I'm about? Maybe beat her with a reverse omoplata? Something those smucks in SCW have never seen?"
"What did I just say about overconfidence?" The old man's smirk vanished.
" Dad, I'm being booked against a greenhorn. I think I can get away with it."
"You're a greenhorn. Not to mention Mason's been competing in taekwondo at a high level. You need to have your eyes on winning the match first. The bookers can always decide you're not worth it if you lose your debut match."
"Okay. Okay, I'll take the match seriously." She said, holding her hands up in a mock-defensive manner
His smile returned. "Good. Good. Now that match is, what, nine days from now?"
"It's on the 10th, yeah."
"Hit the ring. Tyler should be here in 20 minutes. I'm running you two through some heelhooks."
----------------------
September 6th
The shot opens on the interior of a motel room, the desk pulled out from the wall. Jane McCulligan stares down the lens of the camcorder with a wide-eyed, manic expression. Whatever affect she was going for is ruined by the glare of the overhead light fixture and the mild shaking of the camera. She stares down the lens for a few seconds longer before finally giving up and starting the promo.
"Hello, S. C. W!"
She grins broadly down the lens while taking care to emphasize every letter of the acronym.
"I was looking at your roster recently, and let me just say it fucking sucks." She pauses for a second. It goes on for just a bit too long, ruining the impact.
In one corner, we have the washed up rejects from apparently every other sport in the damn world. In another, you have the bottom of the barrel from the north American indies, who i presume were hired solely out of pity. In the third, you have a goddamn internet troll and someone who got possessed by an actual demon. And in the last one, you have the 'young prospects' pipelined in directly from a handful of big named schools staffed by people who apparently took 'Quantity over quality as a personal motto."
This time, she seemed to have figured out the appropriate length of time for a dramatic pause.
"But have no fear! Your prayers have at last been answered! Some actual talent has arrived! The McCulligan Clan is here to rescue you poor viewers from this mediocrity!"
"The names' Jane McCulligan. Your soon-to-be new favorite wrestler. You'll remember it after this Sunday."
She moves the camera closer, lowers her voice so she's no longer shouting down the offscreen microphone.
"I should probably address my opponent now. That's kinda the entire point of this pre-recorded promo shit anyway."
"Harper Mason. I could say that the two of us have a lot in common. That we're both just coming into this industry and trying to make a name for ourselves. That I've been looking over tapes of your matches during training. That I expect this will be a hard fight and a great match. Or that I respect you, admire you because of how much you've accomplished in such a short time. Instead, I'm going to be honest with you."
"You see Harper, the truth is this: I don't give a shit about you. I didn't know who you were until we got booked against eachother and my brother showed me a tape of some match you had somewhere for a company that doesn't exist anymore for a title that doesn't mean anything. As you can tell, i wasn't exactly impressed. Then he showed me a video of your smug little promo, holding your precious hall-of-fame cousin and four months of ring-experience over everyone's head."
She pulls the camera even closer.
Let me make this clear. Your tv championship means nothing to me. Your four months with defunct companies mean nothing to me. I sure as hell don't care about what you did in taekwondo, a martial art far younger than catch-wrestling, I should add. As for your hall-of-fame cousin; talent isn't genetic, and you should have picked someone other than a McCulligan if you wanted being related to Jessie Salco to be intimidating."
"You see Harper, while you came into this business to ride on your cousin's coattails, I grew up in it. I've been training since I was 12. Your television title gonna help you against that? Are your taekwondo kicks gonna get you out of an inside heelhook? You said you could take to the air like your cousin? High-flying is my expertise."
"I do have to agree with you though. Only one of us can win. When that bell rings, you can forget about your 'highly anticipated' debut. Instead, I would recommend worrying about how many times I can drop you on your head, dump you on your neck, dislocate your fingers, and tear apart the tendons in your leg. Because I assure you, no matter how many times you may think that is, it's going to be more."
"But hey, at least your cousin can show you how to handle early retirement when you inevitably choke. Maybe you can run back to taekwondo, or spend the rest of your life looking back on your high school amateur days and wondering where it all went wrong. You have options."
She finally moves back from the camera.
"For any of the rest of you in that shitshow of a locker room watching this, take the match on Sunday as a warning. The Rat Pack has arrived. See you on the 10th."
She reaches over and shuts the camera off.
September 1st
The den was far from the most state-of-the-art wrestling school. The chipped and yellowed white paint, the glass doors that wouldn't shut properly, the 40-years-outdated style of the sign, and the sheet metal roof that hadn't been cleaned in more than a decade all made it look like an old mattress store. It had been a mattress store before her father had bought it and converted it, but that was besides the point. Jane pulled the door the rest of the way open, ducking under the OPEN sign that had always hung too low
The interior wasn't much special either. A few mats and a boxing ring, to keep with the 'old way', which always meant the 'sixties way'. The school was empty, save for her and Charlie, admiring one of the dozen demotivational posters hanging from the walls-he'd gotten it into his head that they 'improved moral'. They'd hosted graduation two weeks ago. Now Joe Muller and Kylie Hendrickson were the indies' problem. They'd all been gifted students, certainly good enough now to roll over whatever garbage wrestlers or indie leftovers they'd be placed against.
"Splinters" McCulligan: "My star pupil," the old man said without turning around. "I remember raising you to knock."
Jane McCulligan: "You only have glass doors, dad."
"fair enough," he said, unpinning and rolling up the poster. "So, contract signing went well? SCW right? Probably over that new 'e-mail' or something right? You get booked? Or Tyler?"
"SCW, yeah. It's a good enough place for a first onscreen match. Tyler ain't been booked yet, but at least I'm in the Opener. And why does every conversation with you turn to technology?
He didn't answer the question. His hatred for technology was about as legendary as it was inconsistent. No one had the heart to tell him E-mail was invented in the 70s.
"hmm, Opener. Better than the mid-card. At least normally. Going against anyone worth beating?"
"Harp something. Harp Madison? Harp Maddox? It was Harp M-something. Probably a no-body."
"They go through Hero Academy?"
"Probably. Either there or Go Gym. Half the talent in North America goes through one of those schools or the other. Why's it matter, not like it's the rat den."
"It's supposed to train good wrestlers. None of 'em would pass muster in the 70s," He thought for a second. "Harper Mason, that it? Cousin to Jessie Salco?"
"No shit? They're booking me against the cousin of a hall-of-famer? They expect me to throw it for her or something?"
He laughed "Bookers'll never change at least. Even if they're the only thing in this damn industry that won't. I wouldn't put it past Salco to have whispered something in the booker's ear to get her greenhorn cousin an easy match for her debut. Bob Mullins used to do that for his boys, and I know damn well Hisoka does that for his students. Either way, they're either expecting you to throw or expecting you to lose in three minutes."
"And what if I, say, don't choke?"
"Well, then you'd go over the golden child, probably humiliate her on national television, and probably start getting booked against people who matter," Father and daughter shared a smirk. "You got the right mindset, not being intimidated by the big stage. But don't be getting overconfident. This isn't a showcase match in the Okinawan indies. SCW's a big fed, got a television contract. People are going to see this match. They're going to see what you do in that ring."
"So should I drag it out? Maybe put her through the table, dislocate a few fingers? Something to show people what I'm about? Maybe beat her with a reverse omoplata? Something those smucks in SCW have never seen?"
"What did I just say about overconfidence?" The old man's smirk vanished.
" Dad, I'm being booked against a greenhorn. I think I can get away with it."
"You're a greenhorn. Not to mention Mason's been competing in taekwondo at a high level. You need to have your eyes on winning the match first. The bookers can always decide you're not worth it if you lose your debut match."
"Okay. Okay, I'll take the match seriously." She said, holding her hands up in a mock-defensive manner
His smile returned. "Good. Good. Now that match is, what, nine days from now?"
"It's on the 10th, yeah."
"Hit the ring. Tyler should be here in 20 minutes. I'm running you two through some heelhooks."
----------------------
September 6th
The shot opens on the interior of a motel room, the desk pulled out from the wall. Jane McCulligan stares down the lens of the camcorder with a wide-eyed, manic expression. Whatever affect she was going for is ruined by the glare of the overhead light fixture and the mild shaking of the camera. She stares down the lens for a few seconds longer before finally giving up and starting the promo.
"Hello, S. C. W!"
She grins broadly down the lens while taking care to emphasize every letter of the acronym.
"I was looking at your roster recently, and let me just say it fucking sucks." She pauses for a second. It goes on for just a bit too long, ruining the impact.
In one corner, we have the washed up rejects from apparently every other sport in the damn world. In another, you have the bottom of the barrel from the north American indies, who i presume were hired solely out of pity. In the third, you have a goddamn internet troll and someone who got possessed by an actual demon. And in the last one, you have the 'young prospects' pipelined in directly from a handful of big named schools staffed by people who apparently took 'Quantity over quality as a personal motto."
This time, she seemed to have figured out the appropriate length of time for a dramatic pause.
"But have no fear! Your prayers have at last been answered! Some actual talent has arrived! The McCulligan Clan is here to rescue you poor viewers from this mediocrity!"
"The names' Jane McCulligan. Your soon-to-be new favorite wrestler. You'll remember it after this Sunday."
She moves the camera closer, lowers her voice so she's no longer shouting down the offscreen microphone.
"I should probably address my opponent now. That's kinda the entire point of this pre-recorded promo shit anyway."
"Harper Mason. I could say that the two of us have a lot in common. That we're both just coming into this industry and trying to make a name for ourselves. That I've been looking over tapes of your matches during training. That I expect this will be a hard fight and a great match. Or that I respect you, admire you because of how much you've accomplished in such a short time. Instead, I'm going to be honest with you."
"You see Harper, the truth is this: I don't give a shit about you. I didn't know who you were until we got booked against eachother and my brother showed me a tape of some match you had somewhere for a company that doesn't exist anymore for a title that doesn't mean anything. As you can tell, i wasn't exactly impressed. Then he showed me a video of your smug little promo, holding your precious hall-of-fame cousin and four months of ring-experience over everyone's head."
She pulls the camera even closer.
Let me make this clear. Your tv championship means nothing to me. Your four months with defunct companies mean nothing to me. I sure as hell don't care about what you did in taekwondo, a martial art far younger than catch-wrestling, I should add. As for your hall-of-fame cousin; talent isn't genetic, and you should have picked someone other than a McCulligan if you wanted being related to Jessie Salco to be intimidating."
"You see Harper, while you came into this business to ride on your cousin's coattails, I grew up in it. I've been training since I was 12. Your television title gonna help you against that? Are your taekwondo kicks gonna get you out of an inside heelhook? You said you could take to the air like your cousin? High-flying is my expertise."
"I do have to agree with you though. Only one of us can win. When that bell rings, you can forget about your 'highly anticipated' debut. Instead, I would recommend worrying about how many times I can drop you on your head, dump you on your neck, dislocate your fingers, and tear apart the tendons in your leg. Because I assure you, no matter how many times you may think that is, it's going to be more."
"But hey, at least your cousin can show you how to handle early retirement when you inevitably choke. Maybe you can run back to taekwondo, or spend the rest of your life looking back on your high school amateur days and wondering where it all went wrong. You have options."
She finally moves back from the camera.
"For any of the rest of you in that shitshow of a locker room watching this, take the match on Sunday as a warning. The Rat Pack has arrived. See you on the 10th."
She reaches over and shuts the camera off.